I hate this.

Still nine days until my appointment with the GYN surgeon. In those nine days, I can:

1. Eat all the sushi in Colorado.
2. Decoupage an entire dining room table.
3. Make a plaster cast of myself, paint it in a macabre style, and stand it in the window to discourage intruders and visitors.
4. Create a crude robot babysitter from parts found on Free Craigslist.
5. Memorize the script to The Thorn Birds (starring Richard Chamberlain), produce one-person re-enactment.
6. Make Pfeffernüsse three times.
7. Reorganize everything in my house by color.
8. Paint a fantasy Vulcan-eared self-portait.
9. Grow back 1/8" of hair on my head.
10. Jog to Denver and back four times.
11. Put together anything from IKEA... WITHOUT instructions.
12. Line up all the pasta in my pantry, end to end. Paint it red and pretend I have lined up all the blood vessels in my body like that weird medical factoid suggests.
13. Write the Great American mini-novella entirely in Pig Latin.
14. Bathe Lola the Great and recover from injuries sustained.

    

    Lola the Great and Brad

15. Convince myself that my fallopian tubes have grown back together in a coup attempt to have more miscarriages.
16. Convince myself that I have uterine cancer and every second is a day closer to inoperable.
17. Go completely nuts.